Showing posts from July, 2007

The Art of Fiction

Since I fancy myself a novelist and am struggling with one right now, my second, which has ended up being a partial sequel to the first, something I originally thought would be cheesy and yet which on second thought made perfect sense, . . . a sentence out of control. A common problem of novelists. To begin again, since I fancy myself a novelist, I recently read A Room of One's Own by Virginia Woolf. I also read it because I'm working on a class in history of public speaking and need background information on feminist works.

What a delightful essay! Amazing. I recommend it to all women who would write for many reasons, but especially because of something she says about anger in the woman who writes. She distinguishes between Jane Austen, who seems to have none of it and yet wrote works that still enthrall us and describe the human emotion and condition so well, and Charlotte Bronte, who wrote one thing that is read today, a more sweeping, Dickensian story, but an angry o…